As in the House I sate

Alone and desolate,

No Creature but the Fire and I,

The Chimney and the Stool, I lift mine Ey

Up to the Wall,

And in the silent Hall

Saw nothing mine

But som few Cups and Dishes shine

The Table and the wooden Stools

Where Peeple us'd to dine:

A painted Cloth there was

Wherin som ancient Story wrought

A little entertain'd my Thought

Which Light discover'd throu the Glass.

I wonder'd much to see

That all my Wealth should be

Confin'd in such a little Room,

Yet hope for more I scarcely durst presume.

It griev'd me sore

That such a scanty Store

Should be my All:

For I forgat my Eas and Health,

Nor did I think of Hands or Eys,

Nor Soul nor Body prize;

I neither thought the Sun,

Nor Moon, nor Stars, nor Peeple, mine,

Tho they did round about me shine;

And therfore was I quite undon.

Som greater things I thought

Must needs for me be wrought,

Which till my craving Mind could see

I ever should lament my Poverty:

I fain would have

Whatever Bounty gave;

Nor could there be

Without, or Lov or Deity:

For, should not He be Infinit

Whose Hand created me?

Ten thousand absent things

Did vex my poor and wanting Mind,

Which, till I be no longer blind,

Let me not see the King of Kings.

His Lov must surely be

Rich, infinit, and free;

Nor can He be thought a God

Of Grace and Pow'r, that fills not his Abode,

His Holy Court,

In kind and liberal sort;

Joys and Pleasures,

Plenty of Jewels, Goods, and Treasures,

(To enrich the Poor, cheer the forlorn)

His Palace must adorn,

And given all to me:

For till His Works my Wealth became,

No Lov, or Peace, did me enflame:

But now I have a DEITY.